Daughter of the Reach
by TyphoonSignal10
Summary: Madanach, the king in rags, languishes in Cidhna Mine, the feared prison beneath Markarth, with the Forsworn acting as unpaid assassins whilst the Nords rule the Reach. A young female Breton interferes with his schemes on the surface and reminds him what the Forsworn once were. Together they break out, and soon the Reach will run red with the blood of the enemies of the Forsworn.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is an attempt at writing the Forsworn. If it goes down well we'll see if I continue it at all. Please review to let me know what you think.**

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He raised his eyes slightly when he heard footsteps drawing close to him, seeking to take in the appearance of the newest member of their little criminal 'family'. He was somewhat surprised to see a tiny woman stood in front of him, clad in typical sackcloth shirt and trousers. Then he saw her face and realised that she was a Breton and it all made sense. She was most likely in Cidhna Mine on some trumped up charges brought against her by a Nord who just didn't like her, or whose advances she had possibly spurned. He also saw that she was young, probably barely out of her teens, she didn't look much like a criminal, in a way she reminded Uraccen of his daughter, and in that moment his heart went out to her.

"What are you in for, new blood?" He asked, deliberately keeping his voice gruff so as not to betray any emotion.

The girl blinked, swallowed, and then answered, "Murder."

Uraccen was shocked by this revelation, she didn't look like a murderer at all. Then she laughed bitterly.

"I didn't do it though," she laughed again, "It's funny really, they never suspected me of the people I actually did murder, then they frame me for this one." She laughed again, but this time the laugh broke down into uncontrollable sobbing as she fell to the floor.

Uraccen was completely lost for a response. This girl had come in here, claimed to be a murderer, then broken down crying in front of him. He had no idea what to do about it. He heard a snort of laughter, and glanced over to see Borkul the Beast eyeing the scene with something resembling enjoyment in his cruel eyes. He turned his attention back to the girl who had now stopped crying, and instead was sitting silently on the floor, her knees drawn up tight to her chest. He spoke to her again, "Listen new blood, if you want my advice, serve your time with a pickaxe and get out. You don't want to end up getting a shiv in the guts over a bottle of Skooma."

The girl nodded silently, then went back to staring intently at the fire. She just sat there for long minutes, staring at the fire as though it would reveal the secrets behind her incarceration. Uraccen looked at the girl again, this time taking in more detail about her, especially her face. In so many ways she reminded him of his daughter, from her small stature, to her pale, white hair. Unlike Uaile however, she didn't seem to be possessed of the drive to aid the Forsworn he had seen so often in his daughter's eyes. He was about to lie back on the cold, unforgiving ground and sleep, when the girl spoke again.

"What are you in for?" She asked.

Uraccen shrugged his was a story that he had told many times before, and one similar to those that he had heard from other prisoners in the mine. "Before this, I was a servant to a Nord nobleman. One night he was stabbed and died. Wasn't me, I wasn't even in the house, but I knew that I'd be the one that they blamed. So I ran. Joined up with the Forsworn. Started killing. Got caught. The Silver-Bloods couldn't be bothered to execute me, so here I am."

The girl nodded, "I wanted to join the Forsworn," she said, "I think I was one, when I was younger. I was told that I was found alone after Ulfric Stormcloak took back Markarth, crying in the middle of the street. All I had was a strange amulet around my neck. They sent me to that orphanage in Riften, Honorhall." Her eyes teared up again. "That amulet was the only possible link I had to my family, and those arseholes took it off me." She wiped her eyes and continued, "The woman who ran the orphanage, Grelod, was an evil old crone. When I turned eighteen, I was kicked out of Honorhall. Spent some time at the College of Winterhold until I was kicked out. When I was twenty-one, I returned to Riften and murdered Grelod in her sleep." She smiled to herself at the memory. Uraccen said nothing. It was his experience that some prisoners felt that they needed to get something off their chest, that they needed to tell their story. All he needed to do was listen.

The girl took a breath and continued. "I suppose it doesn't really matter keeping this a secret anymore. After I murdered Grelod, I was recruited by the Dark Brotherhood. Spent the next two years assassinating people for coin."

Uraccen was secretly impressed, the Dark Brotherhood were known to be very selective in their recruiting.

"Then I travelled to Markarth and got caught up in all of the shit that goes on around here."

Then she turned to him, "What about you? Got any family out there?"

"Only my daughter, Uaile. I'll most likely never see her again, unless she gets herself arrested. I think she'd be about your age now, I'm not sure, being locked up in here means that I've lost track of time's passing."

The girl nodded sympathetically, but the next words out of her mouth threw Uraccen even more.

"So where can I find Madanach?"

"If you're asking that question, then that means that you're the new lifer." He replied, "Tough luck, friend. Those guards set you up good. I'm afraid no one talks to Madanach. Not without getting past Borkul the Beast… And no one _wants _to talk to Borkul the Beast."

"Borkul the Beast?"

"Madanach's guard. The big Orc over there. He once ripped a man's arm off and beat both him, and his wife to death with it. He's old-fashioned like that."

The girl seemed to consider her options. Then she stood up and set off in the direction of Borkul the Beast. From this distance, Uraccen couldn't hear a word of what was being said, as such he was shocked when Borkul stood up from his usual slouch against the wall and took a swing at the girl. He was even more shocked when the girl dodged to one side, grabbed the enormous green arm that whistled past her head, and flipped Borkul over on to the floor. She then twisted his arm into a vicious-looking lock, whilst aiming a potent-looking destruction spell at his crotch. He nodded to himself, the girl was correct, there was definitely some Forsworn blood in there. They exchanged some more words and Borkul handed the girl the key to Madanach's private chamber before hauling himself to his feet. The girl meanwhile had disappeared down the tunnel, the iron door banging shut behind her.

Madanach sat at his desk. Madanach spent a lot of time sitting at his desk, whether it was reading reports from his agents, both in Markarth, and out in the Reach, writing orders to said agents, or receiving a hit list from Thonar Silver-Blood. The latest report from Nepos, one of Madanach's best agents in Markarth, was somewhat worrying though, it said that the almost the entire arrangement had been discovered by a travelling Breton, and that some of Nepos' operatives had been taken out by the same Breton. She was apparently in Cidhna Mine now, having finally given herself up after killing about ten guards inside the Shrine of Talos, then attempting to make a run for it to the main gates.

In addition to his desk, Madanach had a number of luxuries that were unavailable to the average prisoner, chief amongst which was a simple bed, and a chest to store what little possessions he had. Outside the mine, neither the bed nor the chest would be considered anything special, in fact they may have called cheap, but inside Cidhna Mine they were expensive and difficult to obtain, and served as symbols of Madanach's power over the other prisoners.

The sounds of someone breathing behind him, informed him that he had a visitor. His mind quickly examined all the possibilities, none of the other prisoners would dare bother him and Borkul had been given orders to admit no-one unless they could prove themselves. The only person who would intrude upon him would be the Breton that had killed his agents. Without standing up or turning, he addressed the other occupant of the room, "Well, well. Look at you. The Nords have turned you into an animal. A wild beast caged up and left to go mad. So my fellow beast, what do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for trying to have you killed?"

The breathing behind him quickened, "You have a lot to answer for." A voice hissed.

"Do I? And what about you? What right did you have to meddle in my affairs? Kill my people? Was it worth it? Your truth?"

A short laugh emanated from the presence behind him, "Oh this has nothing to do with that. The thing is, all these years working for the Silver-Bloods, killing their enemies for them, you've been stealing from me, or rather, my people." Madanach was confused, what did this person mean, stealing from them? Then he pieced it together, the only group that could get angry in that way about someone else doing killings. By the Old Gods, he was alone with an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood. The voice continued, "Also, do you know how embarrassing this is, professionally? I have never been caught on a contract, but now I've been arrested for _your _murders."

Madanach laughed, "So what you're really angry about is the fact that we've been withholding a source of income from you, and the tarnishing of your reputation."

The voice changed slightly, from the unidentifiable hiss, to an accent that bore certain similarities to Madanach's own, and that of the other Forsworn prisoners, but without the hard edges of someone who had lived their entire life in the Reach. "Oh I'm still pissed off about the attempts to kill me, Madanach, but I can get over that, I want my freedom after all." Madanach realised that as well as belonging to a Breton, the voice was quite definitely female. Finally he stood and turned to face the woman who had caused him so much trouble in Markarth. He was slightly surprised by just how small she was, even for a Breton but he quickly cleared his head of that fact, small meant quick, and quiet, very desirable traits for an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood.

"Of course you do," he said, "You're one of us now, after all. A slave. The boot of the Nord stepping on your throat. Maybe if you understood that, I could help you."

"What do you want of me?"

"There's a man named Braig inside these mines, been here the longest, apart from me that is. Tell him I sent you. Ask him why he's here. I want you to know how widespread the injustice of Markarth is."

The girl nodded once, turned around, and left as silently as she had arrived. Madanach stood staring for a second before returning to his reports. Rereading Nepos' report, he was more surprised by what he read now that he knew who was responsible for it.


	2. Chapter 2

Braig was down in the bowels of Cidhna mine, far away from any of the other prisoners, alone, just how he liked it. So he was mildly annoyed when his solitude was interrupted by the appearance of a slight, Breton woman at the entrance to his small cavern.

"What?" he snapped, "What do you want?"

"Madanach sent me to talk to you," was the reply, "He told me to listen to your story."

"My story, huh?" No one gave away for anything for nothing down here, Braig wanted to hear hers first, "Everyone in Cidhna Mine has a tale. Lets hear yours first. When was the first time you felt chains around your wrists."

"Earlier today," came the reply.

"So you have no idea what it-"

"I'd never been caught before today. I'm also discounting this because I had nothing at all to do with what I've been accused of."

Braig shot a dirty look at the girl for interrupting him, "So, do you have any family? Anyone waiting for you on the outside?"

"I don't know," the girl said, "I don't know who my parents were, or if they're still alive, but I doubt it. The only link I had to my family was an amulet that I'd had for longer than I can remember. I suspect that they were in the Forsworn, whoever they were."

"I had a daughter, once. She'd be twenty-three this year. Married to some hot-headed silver worker or maybe on her own, learning the herb trade. The Nords didn't care who was and wasn't involved in the Forsworn uprising. I had spoken to Madanach once, that was enough. But my little Aethra didn't want to see her papa leave her. She pleaded with the Jarl to take her instead. And after they made me watch as her head rolled off the block, they threw me in here anyway to mine their damnable silver."

Braig picked up a pickaxe, and took out his anger on the nearby silver vein. The girl stood watching for a moment before turning and leaving the man alone with his sorrows.

When the Breton returned to Madanach, he was waiting for her with a grin on his face.

"What?" she snapped.

"I just heard from Uraccen why Borkul let you in," he said, "Is is true that you slammed him against the floor and threatened to fry his cock off if he didn't let you in to see me."

The girl shrugged, "He wouldn't let me in if I asked nicely," she said, "so I've always found that where words fail me, blade or magic usually serves quite well."

Madanach laughed, "You and me both, you and me both. So did you speak to Braig? What did you learn?"

"I spoke to Braig, and to Odvan, and Uraccen and Duach as well. What I learned was that Ulfric Stormcloak is an even bigger cunt than I had already believed him to be. And that the Silver-Bloods and the Jarl are arseholes."

Madanach laughed again. "They are at that." His voice turned serious, "But imagine hearing stories like those, over and over. Each time a different family. Each time a different injustice. Your interfering above ground reminded me of how removed I've been from the struggle. My men and I should be in the hills, fighting."

"So you'll help me escape then?"

"Yes but I'll need a show of loyalty from you. I don't want a shiv in the back on the way out."

"It wouldn't be a shiv, it would be one of these."  
The girl held out her hand and it was wreathed in purple light which condensed into a wicked-looking ethereal blade.

Madanach continued, unimpressed by the little display, "Have you met Grisvar the Unlucky? He's rightly named, and he's also a thief and a snitch. I also suspect that he works for the Silver-Bloods. He's outlived his minor usefulness. Take care of him, and then we can leave Cidhna Mine for good.

Grisvar was sitting down when she came for him, completely relaxed. He had briefly thought that he had heard the sound of something being summoned, but dismissed it, none of the other prisoners had wielded their magic in years. The only other person nearby was Odvan, mining away at the cave wall. The girl stepped through the tunnel that connected them to the main cavern, her hands raised, left palm filled with fire, right gripping the purple handle of a bound sword, the fiery shape of a flame atronach dancing behind her. He barely had time to react before the fireball struck him square in the chest, burning away at his skin. He vaguely heard the girl scream, "TO THE VOID WITH YOU!" His subconscious mind took over and he struggled to his feet and attempted flee. Before he could do so, he was struck by numerous fireballs from the atronach, and the last thing that he saw was the small Breton grinning at him as she danced through the flames and the smoke and her sword swung in a vicious arc towards his neck. He felt a momentary twinge of pain in his neck, and then, nothing.

Odvan looked nervously at the two parts of Grisvar's smoking remains, and then even more nervously at the girl. She smiled at him, showing far too many teeth. "He wasn't a friend of yours, was he?" Odvan shook his head vigorously, Grisvar definitely hadn't been a friend of his, and even if he had been, Odvan was smart enough to know which way the wind was blowing. "Good, I would have hated to have had to drain my magicka any more than I already had to." The girl dismissed her atronach, and dispelled her sword. Lowering her hands she turned around a headed into the main cavern.

Madanach smiled to himself as the girl entered his room for the third time. "Well done," He said as she opened her mouth to speak, "I heard the magic and Grisvar's screams from here. You've finally become one of us. Come with me. I think it's time I announced my plans to you and your new brothers." Madanach stood from his chair and walked past the girl, down the tunnel, and for the first time in years, entered the main cavern of the mine. His appearance caused quite a stir amongst the few prisoners present. "Fetch the others," he commanded, "I have something I need to say." Prisoners slowly began to emerge from all the side tunnels, crowding the fire at the centre so as to better here Madanach's voice. The small Breton emerged from the tunnel behind him.

"What's going on Madanach?" Uraccen queried, "You wouldn't have had old Grisvar killed unless you weren't planning on needing him."

"My brothers, we have been here long enough. It's time to leave Cidhna Mine and continue our fight against the Nords. Through this gate, just beside my quarters, is a tunnel. A tunnel that leads right through the old Dwarven ruins of Markarth, into the city. Well what do you say my brothers?"

"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn." Was the general response of those assembled. One by one, the prisoners began to filter past Madanach, down the tunnel towards the ruins. Madanach turned to the girl standing next to him,

"I'd say you've earned an early pardon. Let's go."

"I'm ready."

"Into the tunnel, let's go."

Madanach and the other prisoners all ran down the tunnel, dreams of freedom and of once more being beneath the sky, rather than the earth, spurring them on. The living rock of the tunnel quickly gave way to the ornate carvings and bronze-coloured metal of Nchaund-Zel, the Dwemer city beneath Markarth. Their escape was briefly interrupted twice, first by a pair of a frostbite spiders who no doubt though that the unarmed, unarmoured prisoners before them would make easy prey. The fact that these prisoners were, for the most part, the vicious, magic-wielding madmen of the Reach, had sadly not registered in their tiny, arachnid brains. The spiders were quickly dispatched by a salvo of destruction magic before the path to freedom was, once more, unobstructed.

The second interruption was somewhat more dangerous, the ancient automata of the long-dead Dwemer stood between the escapees and the air of Markarth. The spiders were quickly dispatched by an array of ice spikes and fireballs. The spheres remained standing a while longer, but they too were no match for the desperation of the prisoners. Once the spheres had been dispatched, the prisoners turned to the doors above them, but in their haste and eagerness, they had completely failed to notice the large, motionless golden form of a Dwarven Centurion. The mechanical monstrosity hissed into life, steam emitting from vents all over its body. It had beheaded Braig, reuniting him with his daughter, before the prisoners were able to react. The Centurion was a far more formidable foe than all of the other automata combined, its steam cannon and arm-mounted hammer kept the Forsworn at bay, the fire and frost magic glancing harmlessly off the Centurion's shell. The Centurion raised its arm to crush the intruders before it, and collapsed onto its side as its left leg gave way beneath it.

When the dust raised by the fall of the metal giant cleared, it revealed the form of a small Breton woman, straddling the centurion's chest, using the point of her shiv to prise the glowing red core out of the centurion's chest. The machine gave one last clanking groan before it fell silent and still. The girl looked up at the array of surprised faces in front of her, "And that children, is how you defeat one of these bastards." She jumped down from the centurion's motionless frame and walked past the gaping Forsworn. "Come on, haven't we got an escape to be getting on with?"

Her words jerked them into action. The remaining prisoners set off after her, male pride refusing to let them accept being beaten by a girl. The girl grinned to herself as she set off down the passageway at speed, leaving the Forsworn behind her. When she emerged alone from the end of the tunnel, having left the Forsworn some distance behind her, she was confronted by a young woman, clad in the revealing Forsworn armour, with warpaint covering her face.

"Who are you?" She demanded, "And what have you done with Madanach? Have you killed him?" The woman advanced, with fire in her eyes, and ice in her hands. "You bitch, I'll kill you!" She screamed. The smaller Breton fell back under her vicious assault, barely getting her wards up in time. The other woman kept hurling spells and abuse at her. Her wards finally failed her, just as the other woman readied a destruction spell of vast power.

"Kaie!" Madanach's powerful voice rang out in the cavern, "What are you doing? This woman has helped us escape."

Kaie's entire expression and body language completely changed upon hearing Madanach's voice. "Da!" She flung herself on him, "I thought she killed you. I thought you were dead. I-I thought…"

"Hush cariad," Madanach spoke softly, "I'm fine, no one's going to be killing me any time soon. Thanks in part to our friend here. She saved all of us from a Dwarven Centurion. Now tell me daughter, did you bring all the things I asked for?"

"I did Da. Enough Forsworn armour for all the prisoners, as well as the equipment belonging to," Kaie stared at the smaller Breton, her expression unreadable, "Your friend."

"Excellent. Get ready, and make sure that all of these idiots remember how to put their armour on, while I have a little chat with our favourite outsider."

Kaie nodded, before thrusting a large sack at the small Breton. "Here, I recovered all your gear for you, it wasn't that difficult, although some guards had to have their throats slit for it of course. And I did have a quick look through. I found full sets of the shrouded armour and robes of the Dark Brotherhood, as well as some standard leather stuff, a couple of Daedric daggers with some very potent enchantments on them, various potions of healing and magicka, and a very peculiar-looking staff indeed."

"That would probably be the Wabbajack."

"What? As in the artifact of the Madgod Sheogorath?" Kaie asked incredulously.

"The very same, would you like me to turn you into a sweetroll? Of course I can't guarantee that I'll get it right first time."

Madanach interrupted before the two women could go back to fighting each other. "That's enough you two. Kaie start handing out the armour. You, come with me a moment."

They stepped away from the group of Forsworn prisoners who were busily dressing themselves in the armour that Kaie offered.

"Well, girl, it's been fun knowing you, as a token of my thanks for reminding of what I was missing and what I should be doing, as well as something for you to remember me by, I had Kaie bring a gift for you. It's blessed with the magicks of the Old Gods. You should probably find it useful." He handed her a set of Forsworn armour, which the girl quickly stuffed into her pack, opting instead to wear the leather armour. "If you ever want to join us in the fight for our freedom, seek me out in Druadach Redoubt. And you needn't worry about your reputation," He smiled, "We'll be making sure that the Nords know who to fear and blame for all those murders after today." He became pensive, "It may take years, but mark my words, I will manage to organise the Forsworn again. We will reclaim our land, and when we have power again, we will have peace, we will have our own kingdom." The smile returned to his face, "Until then, beware the Forsworn, with me at large again, no place in the Reach will be safe from us."

The two of the returned to the main group and headed up the stairs, and through the doors to Markarth, and to freedom.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello again, I have decided to continue this story and I have found myself a Beta reader, so many thanks to Matobar for beta-ing this. The escape from Markarth finishes, and a bit about the Dark Brotherhood which will become relevant later. So enjoy, read and review.**

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The first thing that the escaped prisoners noticed after leaving the confines of the dwarven tunnels was the wind on their faces. The second thing they noticed were the stars in the night sky above. The third thing they noticed were Thonar Silver-Blood and the Markarth guards standing behind him.

"Hello Madanach."

"Thonar," The Reachman hissed, "What a surprise to see you here."

"So you think you can escape my prison? You'll pay for what you've done to my family."

Madanach laughed bitterly, "What _I've_ done to _your_ family? How about you, Thonar? At least I didn't kill your children. Although that might have been because you didn't have any, seeing as you were clearly far too ugly for your wife to let you touch her."

"How dare you insult my wife?" Thonar was furious. Madanach on the other hand seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Your wife was a harlot. You and your brother were bastards. Have I missed anything?"

"Enough of this. Men, ensure that not one of these bastards leaves Markarth alive."

The sounds of the Nords' swords being drawn was drowned out by the sound of mage armour being cast. The two sides crashed into each other with great force, Nordic steel crashing upon Reachman stone. The battle was evenly paced, until a flash of orange light surrounded Thonar, turning him into a sweetroll. In the shock that followed this, a leather-clad Breton reached down and picked up the Thonar-Sweetroll. Raising it to her mouth, she took a bite. An expression of distaste crossed her face.

"Ok, note to self, just because it looks like a sweetroll, does not mean that it tastes like one." Ignoring the shocked faces of the Nords and the expressions of awe from the Forsworn, the girl dropped the remains of the sweetroll on the floor and squashed it beneath her foot. Looking up at them, she grinned. "Oh, sorry, did you want a taste?"

The Forsworn howled with laughter and set about carving a bloody swathe through the Markarth guardsmen, Madanach and his daughter leading the charge. The two groups fought running battles on the streets into the small hours of the morning.

It was much later in the day when the black door west of Falkreath swung open, granting entry to the last active Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary in all of Tamriel. Contained within were the remains of the once mighty guild of assassins brought low during the Great War.

"Welcome home, sister," The voice of Astrid, leader of these remains, sounded like honey, poisonous honey as befitted her position. "It has been quite a while since you last returned. Some of us had begun to… worry."

The cowled woman before her smiled beneath her mask, before purring in response; "Oh come now Astrid, there is little trouble that I get myself into that I cannot get out of. Surely I proved that when I brought down the count of Bruma?"

Astrid laughed, "Oh yes, you most certainly did. But all the same, it does worry me when our family appears to lose one of our most skilled members..."

"You do me much honour mistress. Tell me, do you have any contracts for me? Or should I be speaking to Nazir?"

The older woman smiled, "You have arrived at a good time sister, for I have just received news of a woman who has performed the Black Sacrament. You must go to Markarth and seek out Muiri, the assistant at the Hag's Cure."

Silence filled the room. Mentally however, the younger assassin was cursing her luck. Why, of all places to go, did it have to be the one that she had so recently killed a pillar of the establishment in, and subsequently painted the streets of the city red with the blood of its guards? She couldn't reveal this to Astrid however, even less so after her bold statement about being able to get herself out of any trouble she made for herself. "As you wish, mistress."

As the door cracked open once more, the assassin began to contemplate exactly how she would go about acquiring the information for this contract. It would require far more stealth than simply approaching the client in the street in her plain leather armour as she usually did.

Muiri was tired, she had spent the whole day standing behind the counter at the Hag's Cure, fetching requested ingredients and potions, valuing the ones being sold, and fending off unwanted attention from the apothecary's male patrons. Could they not see that she didn't want that? That she no longer cared for, or believed in love? That part of her had been lost years ago, ripped out by that bastard Alain Dufont and the Shatter-Shield family. She shook her head to clear it of those thoughts. If all went to plan then soon, they would be gone. She allowed herself a small smile as headed up the stairs to her small room above the shop.

As she approached her bed, she heard the door swing shut behind her. Then the voice, "The Dark Brotherhood has heard you Muiri."

Her heart in her throat, she turned to face the figure, garbed in the black and red armour of the Brotherhood, face obscured by the shadows cast by the light. "It worked," She breathed, "The Sacrament actually worked."

The figure inclined its head, "Obviously, or I would not be here," Muiri thought she recognised a Breton accent emanating from under the hood, "Who do you want dead?" The voice enquired.

"A man by the name of Alain Dufont," Muiri said, and it felt good to finally say it, "I want him hunted down and murdered like the dog he is."

The woman nodded, silent. Muiri felt that she needed to continue.

"I didn't know it when we were… together… but Alain is actually a bandit, worse, he's the leader of a group of them. They've holed themselves in some old dwarven ruin with their loot – Raldbthar I think. It's near Windhelm."

The assassin nodded again, she knew the area near Windhelm, had done rather a lot of the dread lord's business there in the last two years. Muiri continued.

"I want you to go there, find Alain, and kill him." Her voice was beginning to rise slightly in anger, "I don't care for his friends. Do as you wish, but Alain has to die!"

"It will be done." Was the assassin's response, and Muiri felt a sense of relief, as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Excellent. Once that bastard is dead, I'll pay you. In gold. I've saved up a fair bit. I hope that'll do." The assassin turned to go, but feeling emboldened by the acceptance of her contract, Muiri spoke about the other matter that had been plaguing her mind, not sure whether or not it was the right thing to do, but now, now she felt confident that it should happen. "There is one more thing. I – I mean, if you're interested that is?" The assassin turned back to her, cold silver eyes the only thing visible through the slit of her mask, eyes that seemed as though they could tell everything about you just by looking at you, your beliefs and your doubts, your strengths and your, weaknesses. They were killer's eyes.

"Go on."

"If you can… I want you to kill someone else, as well." She spoke more softly now. "You don't have to – I mean, not as a part of the contract. But if you would do this for me… I'll pay you even more."

"Who else do you want dead?"

"Nilsine Shatter-Shield, in Windhelm. If she dies as well… I'll make it worth the effort."

"It will be no extra effort, it will be done," Muiri felt pleased by this statement, "But you have intrigued me, tell me the rest of the story, why must these two die?"

Muiri was slightly confused, she had never heard of the Dark Brotherhood assassins taking a personal interest in contracts. Then again, she had never heard much about Dark Brotherhood assassins at all. Hesitantly, she explained the reasons behind her hatred of Alain and Nilsine. "I went to Windhelm to see the Shatter-Shields, they were old family friends, and… in mourning. Their daughter, Friga was recently murdered. I met Alain in the tavern, while I was… drowning my sorrows in the mead. He was handsome, and charming. He called me the 'beautiful lily' of his dreams. I was completely taken in, he made all my pain just… go away. But it was lies! All of it! He used me. He ruined my name, destroyed my friendship with the Shatter-Shields… He was in Windhelm because he'd heard of Friga's murder. He intended to befriend the Shatter-Shields, befriend them… and rob them blind. And the bastard used me to do it. He made them think that I'm some kind of monster. He took my life, now I'm paying you to take his."

"And Nilsine?" The assassin sounded curious.

"I was like a daughter to Tova, a sister to Friga and Nilsine. But they refuse to accept that I was innocent, that I had no part in Alain's deception. No matter what I say. They didn't understand that I was used, that I was grieving Friga as well. No… they treated me like garbage, they just threw me away." Muiri felt tears spring to her eyes as she poured out her grief and her loneliness, to this stranger who was paid to kill people, paid by her. "With Nilsine dead, maybe then Tova will realise what she's lost, hmm? Maybe, when she's sitting alone, surrounded by the ghosts of her blood-daughters, she'll realise that I was just as much her daughter as they were, until she pushed me away. Otherwise, may she drown in her own tears."

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes, I was… going to do it myself, I put my training to use and created a poison specially for the job. If you could use it, it would make me feel more connected to the deaths." She produced two vials of the potion from the cabinet beside her bed and offered them to the assassin, who took them, secreting them into one of the many concealed pouches and pockets on her armour. Then she turned and walked out of Muiri's room. Muiri sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. For some reason the room seemed that bit more, dead, without the assassin's presence. She thought about the chain of events that she had just set in motion, the pig, Alain Dufont would die, with any luck his bandits would get in the way and die as well, and possibly, just possibly, Nilsine Shatter-Shield would die as well.

Outside, the assassin made her way towards the walls, avoiding the patrolling guards on the streets by taking to the rooftops above, blending into the shadows almost effortlessly as she cleared the dwemer-built walls of the city, landing on the roof of the stables. Dropping down behind the stables she changed out of shrouds, into something much less conspicuous. She emerged moments later clad in plain leather armour, with a glint of gold around her neck. She turned to leave and was accosted by a guard who had seen a figure in black and red drop behind the stables and had gone to investigate. She dispatched him efficiently with a sword thrust to the chest. Letting his limp, lifeless body drop to the ground, she muttered to herself, "Must be losing my touch." Before stepping over his body, careful to avoid the spreading pool of blood on the floor surrounding her victim. She looked down at him, she could see his face where his helmet had come off. He was young, perhaps even younger than she was. She shrugged; young or old, he was dead now, such was the fate of the fools who sought to stand in the way of the Dark Brotherhood.

* * *

**A/N: And there you have it. For those who already miss Madanach, he will be back next chapter, or the chapter after.**


	4. Chapter 4

The official contract had been easy, almost child's-play. Assassinating Alain DuFont had required only a minimal amount of stealth, after all, the fool had been sitting directly above a pool of flammable oil in a ruin miles away from any guards, no that any would especially care about his death, he was, after all, a bandit. One quick fireball spell and the cavernous ruin had been filled with the dying screams of Alain and his men. Admittedly, she hadn't used the poison as the client had requested, but she still had Nilsine to deal with. As she turned to leave something caught her eye, something familiar. She turned back and recognised Aegisbane, family warhammer of Clan Shatter-Shield, slung across Alain's back. He had died so quickly that he had not had a chance to go for his weapon. The Assassin grinned to herself, there was a black humour to be found in killing the Shatter-Shield's last remaining daughter with their family weapon, and perhaps leaving it in Nilsine's had after she was dead maybe? She strode across the room to Alain's fire-blackened corpse and wrapped her hands gingerly around the hilt of the weapon. It was hot, but not unbearably so. She swung the weapon experimentally a few times, she was no expert with two-handed weapons, but felt confident that she would be able to kill Nilsine with the hammer. She smiled beneath her cowl, and set out for Windhelm.

Nilsine was bored. There was nothing to do in Windhelm anymore, her father was always working, and her mother just hadn't been the same since… since Friga had died. Since that treacherous bitch Muiri had betrayed them to Alain DuFont. Since he had come to their house and stolen all of their family treasures. She turned and started to walk down the alley behind the blacksmith's, she could already smell the coals of Oengul's forge. She had just begun to think about what she needed to buy from the market today when she heard a voice behind her. "Hello, Nilsine." She turned to confront the owner of the voice, her eyes widening when she recognised the owner.

"What do you want?" She spat venomously, other than Muiri, Nilsine hated this woman more than anything on Nirn. "I thought we ran you out of this town."

"You did, I came back. As we both know the guards in this town can't prevent anything, theft, trespassing, murder…"

Nilsine barely registered the odd tone to the Breton's voice when she spoke about murder, almost as though she wasn't only referring to Friga's death. "You came back to mock us, to mock Friga's memory?"

The other woman sighed, "You know, she was the only person in this city who was ever nice to me, no one else cared about the lost Breton from Riften. I miss her."

Nilsine saw red, "How dare you stand there and say that!" She howled, "You hated our family, you stole from my mother in the market every chance you got."

"Funny you should say that," the Breton reached over her head for the hilt of her weapon, a weapon that Nilsine realised that she knew. The Breton was now holding Aegisbane, its head shimmering as though covered in liquid. "That's why I'm here now." She leapt at Nilsine, who barely had time to utter a cry before the large warhammer crashed into the side of her head, cracking all the bones in her face, the poison coating it seeping into the wound and guaranteeing her death, unneeded, as the sheer scale of the damage would never have allowed Nilsine to survive.

The Breton smiled to herself, one less Shatter-Shield in the world could only be a good thing. Leaving the weapon embedded firmly in the side of Nilsine's head she bent over the corpse, "I commend your soul to the void," she whispered, "The dread father has you now."

As she stood up, a guard clad in the thick blue cloak of Eastmarch chose that moment to walk round the corner. "W-w-what is this?" He stammered, his eyes taking in the scene before him but his brain refusing to process it. "Murder!" He screamed, finally coming to his senses, "There's been a murder! Guards! Guards! Come quickly!"

The Breton turned on her heel and fled down the alley towards the main gates of Windhelm, pursued by some of Windhelm's finest, not that being the finest meant much to her, not in this city. They didn't have a hope of catching her. She laughed as she ran past Windhelm's bewildered looking citizens, not caring about the guards ahead of her, they probably had no idea that she had just smashed a citizen's brains out on their watch. She breezed past them, hurtling through the imposing gates that led onto the bridge connecting Windhelm to the other side of the river. Not stopping until she reached the stables where her horse was waiting patiently for her. Mounting her horse, she rode hard for Whiterun, and from there, Markarth.

Muiri's eyes flickered open. She was sure that she had heard something in the shop downstairs. She reached nervously for the dagger that she kept on her nightstand before wrapping her self in a cloak and heading downstairs. She could see nothing out of the ordinary in the shop, nothing that indicated that there was anyone else, other than Bothela, in the entire building. She moved towards the front door, intending to check the lock to see if anyone had broken in, when she heard the sound of fire magic being used to light one of the candles behind her. She spun wildly, dagger clenched tightly in her hand.

"Careful there, you could kill some one with that thing – and that's _my_ job."

Muiri recognised the voice, and the armour of the figure sitting in Bothela's chair. The assassin of the Dark Brotherhood.

"Well, what news?" She asked tentatively, barely hoping for the answer to be one of success. "Is Alain…"

"The bandit now lies dead in the depths of Raldbthar. Apparently the fool doesn't recognise flammable oil when he stands in it."

Muiri could have sworn that the assassin was grinning beneath her cowl. "Was it painful?" she asked, hoping that it had been, that bastard had torn out her heart, he deserved pain.

"Excruciatingly."

"Thank you, that bastard got exactly what he deserved." She paused, "What about the additional contract? Is Nilsine…"

"Last time I saw her she was lying in alleyway in Windhelm with Aegisbane sticking out of her face."

Muiri sank to her knees as she was overcome by emotion. Nilsine, dead, killed with her family warhammer no less. "Thank you so much, you have more than fulfilled your bargain." She stood again, "If you will excuse me, I will just retrieve your payment."

The assassin nodded, "Of course, I doubt that there are too many pockets in a sleeping shift."

Muiri felt herself blushing a furious scarlet, for some reason she felt terribly embarrassed to be so scantily-clad in the presence of this woman. She retrieved the money that she had set aside for the payment of the assassin, all seven hundred and fifty septims of it. She hesitated as she contemplated whether or not to give the assassin her ring as reward for the death of Nilsine. Making her decision, she closed her hand around the bulging coin purse and the enchanted silver ring. She returned to the main room. "Here, take this," She said, holding out the purse which the assassin took and quickly hid in one of the pouches at her waist, "as payment, and this," here she held out the ring, "as a symbol of my affection." If the assassin saw any peculiarities in this, she gave no sign, merely accepting the token silently. "I'll never forget you."

"Nor I, you." The assassin replied, before turning and disappearing into the night. Once again, Muiri felt as though the room seemed less, alive, without the presence of the assassin. Dismissing the thoughts, she returned to her bed, where she slept soundly. For the first time since she had been forced to leave Windhelm, she was not plagued by nightmares about Alain Dufont and the Shatter-Shield family.

Astrid heard the door open, and felt the rush of air that signalled the arrival of the woman that she considered to be one of her best assassins. "Ah, you're back," She said, not bothering to look up from her map table, or even to turn her head, "How did the contract go? Rather more exciting than some of the previous contracts I've given you, and a damn sight more exciting than the ones you've been taking from Nazir, I'd wager."

"I suppose you could say that, mistress."

"Of course. Now, I have some news for you, we have welcomed a new member into our family."

"I see."

"No you don't, you think you do, but you don't. To understand this, Cicero, you must meet him. Come." Astrid stood up and walked down the tunnel connecting the entrance to the main cavern, the younger assassin following at a respectable distance.

Upon entering the main cavern, the assassin saw her brothers and sisters arguing with a small, Imperial man wearing what appeared to be a jester's outfit.

"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will!" It was the Imperial that was doing the talking, in a strange, high-pitched voice that suggested that he was not all there. And the Night Mother, that was the ancient figure that the Brotherhood had followed for centuries, up until the great war, when the sanctuaries of Cyrodiil had been destroyed, and the secret of her location lost. The Breton's eyes were attracted to the upright, wooden crate at the edge of the room. There was some dark, malevolent power emanating from it. Could it be? That this Imperial had brought the remains of the Night Mother to Skyrim? "Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely… punishment?" The Imperial continued. Definitely not completely sane then. Arnbjorn seemed to be of a similar opinion.

"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets 'punished.'"

Cicero, as Astrid had called him, did not seem at all fazed by this threat, in fact, if his expression was anything to go by, he looked like he would welcome it.

"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog." Festus Krex weighed in with his papery voice, "The man has quite clearly had a long journey, you can at least be civil."

"Oh, yes. Cicero has had a very long journey, all the way from Anvil to Dawnstar. Then, disaster! Poor Mother's cartwheel broke, and nasty Loreius would not help! Poor Cicero was destitute. Then a kindly stranger helped Cicero fix his wheel and he came to Falkreath."

Festus now spoke to the strange Jester, "Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted that you and the Night Mother and have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

Astrid's eyes flashed at this statement, unnoticed by any, except for her werewolf husband who growled nervously, his wife felt threatened by this madmen, therefore, Arnbjorn would be watching him.

Cicero, however seemed cheerfully oblivious of this, "Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our lady's favour."

Astrid cleared her throat, "You and the night mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper." Then to Arnbjorn, "Understood… husband?"

"Hmph." Was the only reply Arnbjorn gave.

"Oh, yes yes yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Cicero began performing a little jig on the spot.

"But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss." He turned his attentions back to the crate beside him, muttering about taking good care of mother, and how he hoped that her room would be large enough to allow him to do so properly.

"Mistress, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Hmm? No, no, we have no new contracts for you at the moment, Veezara has been getting bored, so I decided to let him have the next few, so you have some free time for yourself." The younger assassin turned to leave. "Oh, but while you're gone, do try avoid getting arrested, I hear prison breaks can be quite a difficult thing to pull off."

Astrid's laughter followed the assassin out of the Sanctuary, and into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

Madanach sat outside the cave at Druadach redoubt. It had been over a month since he had escape from Cidhna Mine, but he still felt trapped when he was inside, whether that was a cave or anything more substantial than one of the Forsworn's animal hide tents. He spent a great deal of time just sitting on the ledge, staring at the three grave markers that indicated the graves of his children. His eldest daughter, Mhairi, shouted down and run through by Ulfric Stormcloak during the battle for Markarth, cut down in front of Madanach's eyes. Cordach, his only son, killed by a Nord patrol a few years into Madanach's imprisonment in Cidhna Mine, the only grave that contained a body, Mhairi's body having been burnt by the Nords along with all the other Reachmen dead after they had taken Markarth. Cordach had only been eighteen at the time. Finally, the smallest grave, his youngest, Eithne, this was the one that pained Madanach most. Mhairi and Cordach had been fighters, fully initiated into adulthood and had died with swords and magic in their hands. Eithne had been a child of barely three summers, not that the Nords cared, she was a Reachman, so she had died.

Footsteps behind Madanach alerted to him to the presence of Kaie, the only other person who would dare to come to this place. "I thought I'd find you here, Da." Madanach said nothing. "Da, you've been out of Cidhna Mine for more than a month, but in that time, nothing has happened, the Forsworn have done nothing, the guards have just sat in this camp cleaning their weapons."

Madanach sighed, "In the mine, I thought – I thought that once on the outside it would be easy to just go back to the old ways, raiding and killing. But now that I'm here, I just can't seem to make it work." He returned his gaze to the grave markers, "Mhairi and Cordach fought, and they died. Eithne died because she was a child of the Forsworn. I failed them cariad, I failed you."

Kaie became angry, "You have failed them? Damn right you failed them, but not the way you think! You failed them the moment that you gave up! The moment you decided that the past is more important than the present! You failed them when decided to just give up rather than lead the Forsworn again! You disgrace my brother and sisters' memories by refusing to carry on the fight that they gave their lives for! You are my father and the King in Rags, the Reach-King that was, and bloody well will be again! Start acting like it!"

Madanach was stunned by his daughter's outburst, and so, it seemed was she. Madanach stood up and approached his daughter. His only living daughter. His beautiful, fierce daughter. Clad in the armour of the Forsworn, and the golden locket carved with intricate knotwork that showed that she was his child, like the locket now draped around Cordach's grave, and the lockets lost with Amaleen and Eithne's bodies. "Thank you cariad, I needed that. You're right, you've always been right. You'll make a good leader of the Forsworn when I'm gone."

Kaie laughed, "Da, I'll make a good Reach-Queen when you're gone. You will be the one to unite the reach and take Markarth, you've done it before, this time you'll keep it."

Madanach smiled, "Maybe, cariad, and If I don't, I'm sure you will."

"Come on Da, let's go join the others, they've found some wine and other drinks from somewhere."

"Are you trying to get me drunk, daughter?"

"Maybe I am. At least it'll put you in a better mood than this one."

Madanach sighed, sometimes it seemed as though he was the child in their relationship, and Kaie his worried mother. She was right though, he did need to spend more time with other people, and being drunk would doubtlessly put him in a better mood.

It took Madanach and the other off-duty members of Druadach Redoubt less than an hour to get absolutely roaring drunk, singing songs about what they would do to any captured Stormcloaks and the remaining Silver-Blood, Thongvor, very violent songs. Madanach in particular was especially drunk when one of the sober guards pulled him aside and told him he had a visitor waiting for him in his tent.

"Right, I'll come and see them then, off you goesh, *hic* all three of you." He giggled.

"Sir, I really don't think that you're in any state to be seeing, well anyone." Duach said.

"Let me go, I'm the King in Rags, see, I can do what I want."

"Very well sir."

Madanach stumbled off happily towards his tent where the guards had informed him that his visitor was waiting for him, whistling songs about the Reach being free again under his breath. When he reached his tent, he was only mildly surprised to see the pale-haired Breton that had accompanied him out of Cidhna Mine, what was her name again? Madanach couldn't remember, wasn't entirely sure she'd ever told him really. He made a mental note to himself to find out. The girl smiled at him.

"It seems that the Forsworn really enjoy celebrating doesn't it?" She said. He shrugged.

"Were not dead yet, might as well enjoy ourselves. We're not imprisoned anymore, so we've got to make up for lost time."

"Makes sense I suppose, we've only got one life, so we might as well live it to its fullest, is that how you think?"

"Got it in one." He burped happily, "Sorry about that, my daughter's convinced me to get drunk, says I'm a grumpy bastard otherwise. So what do you want, hmm? You didn't come all the way out here just to talk about Forsworn customs and culture did you?"

"Well actually I did." She replied.

"Really? Bit of a waste of time wasn't it?"

The girl groaned and flickering restoration magic appeared in her hands, magic that she then shot at Madanach.

"Hey, what was that, what did you do?" Madanach felt his mind clearing.

"Drunkenness cure," was the reply, "Doesn't affect hangovers, so you'll still have a splitting headache in the morning, but it clears your head so that can talk civilly."

Madanch grinned, "Very nice, we could do with learning that. I'm guessing that you learnt that in Winterhold?" He laughed at the expression on her face, "Believe it or not, I do talk to Uraccen and Duach sometimes. Uraccen was full of information about you. Says that you were brought up in an orphanage, and once you were old enough, killed the owner. What made you do that?"

"She was a bitch, an absolute bitch. Even more inhuman than the hagravens. Beat us every time we did something wrong, beat us when we didn't. Gave us barely enough food to survive on and kept the rest for herself. The fact that I was the only non-Nord there made it much worse." She shivered slightly at the memories.

"So what did you want to know about the Forsworn then?" Madanach asked, keen to finish the conversation and get back to drinking.

"Well, mostly I wanted to know what this is," The girl said, reaching inside her pack, "It's the only thing I have that could be a link to my family and it seems to be Forsworn in design. I was hoping that you could help me." She pulled out a chipped golden locket.

Madanach inhaled sharply and took it from her, his hands trembling, it couldn't be, surely. This couldn't be what he thought it was. He cracked open the front face of the locket to reveal a miniature painting of a red eagle on a silver background. "I didn't know it did that." The girl said. Madanach closed the opening and turned the locket over. There, carve into the metal casing, slightly faded by time, were the five letters that Madanach had hoped beyond hope for.

"Eithne." He breathed.

"Yeah, it's what I've been going by for the last twenty years, what does it mean? Hang on, Madanach, are you alright?"

Madanach felt the tears misting his eyes. Twenty years ago, even the ages matched up, if Uraccen was to believed. He looked at the girl, he could see the resemblances to himself, and to Kaie and Mhairi, but especially to Soneen, his wife.

"Eithne, is it really you?"

The girl was starting to look confused, "Um, yeah. That's me, what's going on?"

"My daughter."

"Wait, what?"

"You are my daughter, the miniature inside the locket, it is the symbol of the Reach-King. I had it painted inside lockets that I gave to each of my children."

The girl's look of confusion deepened, "You, are my father?"

"Yes, I think so, you look just like your mother."

The girl stared at him for a moment before wrapping her arms around, sobbing quietly, "I have a father."

"Of course you do cariad, everyone does." Then he started crying as well, "You came back, you're not dead. All these years, and I have two daughters, not one."

Then she started laughing, still crying, but laughing as well.

"What, what is it?"

"When I was in the orphanage, we all told each other stories about our parents, about how they were still alive and what they were doing. I told everyone that my father was a powerful Forsworn leader, and that one day I'd meet up with him again. I never would have guessed that you'd be the King in Rags."

"Had to be me," Madanach growled softly, "Someone else might have gotten it wrong."

The girl, no, his daughter, his Eithne, giggled. "That sounds about right, my dad, the egocentric Forsworn warlord."

"Egocentric? How dare you." But he was laughing as well, laughing truly for the first time in over twenty years, yes Cordach and Mhairi were still dead, but life went on, and the Forsworn lived in the moment, and he had his daughter back. He released his daughter. "We've got some serious catching up to do cariad, what have you been doing with yourself all these years?"

"Fighting mostly. Spent some time up at the college of Winterhold as you already know."

"Uraccen said you got kicked out. How?"

"Well ,apparently the college takes a very dim view of jumping on visiting Thalmor mages wielding bound weapons and screaming 'I'm going to kill you, you golden-skinned cunt.'"

Madanach was impressed, "And after that?"

"Went back to Riften and murdered Grelod in her sleep, made sure she died painfully. Next morning I woke up in a shack in Hjaalmarch, being stared at by a Dark Brotherhood assassin. Apparently I'd stolen one of their contracts."

Madanach shivered, the Brotherhood were known to be dangerous killers who didn't take kindly to others stealing their business, the guild war with the Morag Tong of Morrowind had proven that.

"Instead of killing me, she recruited me to join her family. I've spent the last few years sending souls to the void in the name of the Dread Father, Sithis, and being paid for it." She smiled, and Madanach sat down heavily, causing the set of drawers next to his bed to topple over, spilling their contents on to the floor. His daughter bent down to help him gather them, she stopped as her fingers closed around a small glass bottle, filled with a murky brown liquid. Madanach cursed inwardly as he recognised it as a Skooma vial. He had hoped to keep his one time Skooma addiction a secret from her, remembering how disappointed Kaie had been when she found out. He braced himself for the lecturing he was shure he would receive, but instead of shouting at him, his daughter stared at the small glass vial, seemingly entranced by it. She uncorked the stopper and raised it to her lips, before screaming and hurling the bottle to the floor, she cast a powerful destruction spell, lighting both the bottle and its surrounding s on fire, then collapsing silently to the floor.


End file.
